


Way Back Home

by 10000missiles



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10000missiles/pseuds/10000missiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never left Cybertron.<br/>Various encounters from vaguely postapocalyptic world where everything is scarce and sides don't really matter anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Way Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be adding new tags as I add chapters. Warning for bad things happening in bad times. I need to post this now before I lose my nerve and bury it like all the others.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz comes across an old friend.

Jazz picked his way through rubble, careful not to tear the tarpaulin cover slung over his chest. 

He got incredibly lucky this time. One of the residential buildings became unstable and caved in, creating an opening to the upper levels. Climbing up was risky, but sometimes a gamble was worth it. 

Firing off his grapple hook, Jazz pulled on the rope until it snagged. He gave it one more pull to make sure it held, and the ceiling creaked ominously. 

Jazz tensed up and stilled.

Fine dust rained down, flittering in the air. He could slowly back out and leave, or keep going. If he got injured, he'd be off the roster, another crippled oil guzzler in times when they couldn't afford to waste fuel. On the other hand, they haven't gotten a chance to pick this building clean yet. If he managed to get in, he might find in the least basic medical supplies or cleansers. If the building caved in further, no one would find him. If something lived there, there was no one to help. 

He grabbed the rope and made a step forward. Nothing. Feeling bold, he swiftly pulled himself up and grabbed the ledge of the hole above him. The deafening screech of metal alarmed him and his anchor point gave a little. Hurriedly Jazz scrambled up and retracted the hook, flattening himself against the nearest wall. The rusty support beam of the floor collapsed and the middle plating of the hallway fell to the floor of the level below. The building shook and Jazz sent a quick prayer to anyone who'd listen. His hand wandered over the tarp to make sure it didn't get damaged. Back to the wall, he edged his way down the hallway to the nearest doors. The locks were offline. Jazz detached the crowbar magnetised to his leg and carefully turned to face the entrance. With a little force the doors slid open, revealing a modest habsuite. He switched the crowbar for the knife by his belt, then tested the floor before making his way inside. Things went remarkably smooth so far, as far as he was concerned.

The first room was a living room. Jazz crouched down and listened. Some part of the housing still made a creaking sound. There was the softest breeze outside. Dust was still settling in the hallways. His fuel pump worked overtime. Nothing else. No one else. Good.

He allowed himself to relax a little. The living room was small and served additionaly as a kitchen and a closet. Jazz headed straight for the cabinets. Knife ready, he opened the first one and peeked in. It contained some cloths and solvents, a few spare bolts, half a jar of wax and a screwdriver. The cleansers and the screwdriver he took, adding them to his makeshift bag. Next cabinet had some fancier energon glasses and he left those behind. The last cabinet was the jackpot and Jazz hastily stuffed the tarp with the bag of additives and pain relievers. Done with the first room, he turned to the berthroom and froze when he noticed the figure huddled in the corner. For a few seconds he just watched the other mech, battle ready until his processor caught up. 

Grey. 

Dead. 

Safe. 

Jazz sagged in relief. Just another corpse, another dead civilian. Softly he murmured the passing rites while he knelt in front of the mech. It was an average build, probably a factory worker. Too poor to be adequately prepared and too rich to survive. 

Jazz carefully examined it for rust spread before digging in. The outer plating was too weathered down to be of any use, but relatively easy to strip down once one knew how. With practiced hand the former saboteur broke down the main connections and pried the chest armor off. The mesh of protoform was easier to handle, all it took was a careful incision down the middle and Jazz peeled it away just enough to check what was left. The spark chamber, even hidden under reinforced plating, was obviously dark. His fingers slipped on the mesh and Jazz brought his hand to light curiously. Empties didn't bleed. Yet the wiring woven into the protoform was slick and the connections he cut slowly dripped energon down onto the floor. Most corpses he came across were of mechs starved, crushed or shot. No obvious damage on this one, and it still had energon. He patted the mech down and there it was, small chip in the back of its neck.

Jazz ripped it out and sighed, staring at the offending piece of equipment.

Virus, no doubt.

What a way to go.

Safe, clean, relatively painless.

He turned it in his hand, examining, trying to tell himself he was looking for identification and not stalling.

What a way to go.

Grimly, he crushed the chip in his palm and let the dust fall on the floor.

What a way indeed.

But this meant things and Jazz had work to do.

Returning to the job at hand, he dug almost elbow deep into the dead mechs abdomen, hands getting slicker as he followed one of the main energon lines. Finally he brushed against the distinct shape of the fuel pump and carefully extracted the organ from within the mech. Tuning his audials to the faintest sounds and leaning closer, he lightly shook the thing and listened. The energon inside sloshed quietly and the parts moved. Jazz grinned in victory.

Smoothly he cut off the connections and let the thing drain out. The cables spilled yet more fuel and Jazz readily collected all of it into an empty container. He stashed the energon into his tarp, and took to the mechs bedding, cutting out a piece of fabric to gently wrap the pump. 

With that, he stood up. The berth was soft and inviting and for a second Jazz contemplated indulging himself. It's been a while since he slept in a proper bed. 

But if he'd fall asleep, he would fall behind. No one who fell behind caught up yet.

For now, he was done with this place. He got more than he hoped for, and couldn't risk damaging the goods while scavenging further. Cautiously he climbed back to the hallway and snuck out through a hole in the wall, running down the pile of debris underneath until his pedes hit solid ground of the street's main road. 

The moment he caught his balance and the dust settled, he sensed it. 

Too late.

"Don't move."

He didn't, frozen to the spot. Was that-

"Turn around. Slowly."

Jazz followed the order, making sure not to make any sudden movements. He noticed the very much working rifle first, and the owner second.

"Prowl-"

"Jazz." 

"You're alive." That was the most surprising thing by far. Prowl went missing shortly after things went from bad to worse. It left its mark on the morale when their smartest mech decided the best course of action was to disappear. It seemed to work out for him, at least. The strategist certainly saw better days, but then again, they all did.

And now there was a weapon aimed at his head and Jazz couldn't afford to get shot if he could help it. There was something cold in the former enforcers optics, and that made him nervous. Mechs called Prowl sparkless, but Jazz never personally believed it.

"Drop that." Prowl motioned to the tarp. Jazz slowly untied his makeshift bag and knelt to lower it to the ground. The whine of the rifle warned him and he stopped midway.

"Easy, my mech." Jazz smiled nervously. The doorwings on the strategists back were held high and tense and Jazz desperately tried to remember what that meant, above just 'bad things'. "I don't wanna fight ya'," he added.

With the tarp safely on the ground, the saboteur ever so slowly straightened again.

"You're actually alive." He repeated, still not believing it. "I'll be damned."

"Back up." Prowl growled, and Jazz noticed just how strange it sounded. Prowl never talked much, but now the former spy wondered just when was the last time Prowl had a conversation with another mech.

"You don't have ta do this, Prowl." He started, taking a step back. Prowl kept an optic, and rifle, on him, but did not acknowledge the words.

"We have a group. We could really use your help. They could fix you-" Prowl glared at him, one optic shattered and dim, left leg held together with a makeshift brace. The rifle whined again, glowing with charge. Sensitive topic, do not mention. Jazz stopped.

"Group?" He echoed and Jazz hesitated, not sure if the truth would get him shot down on the spot.

"Bots and cons," he started, and already that glimmer in Prowls working optic told him the mech was zeroing in on vitals.

"Some o' us got togetha, figured our chances are better that way. We're headed north, to Darkmount, base is supposedly safe."

Prowl snorted at that, an odd static sound. Rifle still trained on Jazz, he squatted down and began riffling through the contents of the tarp. 

"You could come with us, ya know," Jazz went on. "Help us navigate 'round the Rust Sea. We usually have enough fuel for everyone nowadays." Even though it was mostly because there were so few of them left.

"You lead them?" The makeshift bag unwrapped, Prowl picked up the container of siphoned energon with one hand and made a face. Then he fastened it around one of his belts. Jazz noted several of those. 

"Ironhide leads us." He wondered if Prowl had a shelter, or kept roaming about. He wondered if he was the first mech robbed in broad daylight by the praxian.

"Ironhide's a fool."

"He's doing the best he can."

"What happened to Prime?" Prowl picked up a small ornate silver box, one of the few things Jazz kept to himself. He found it in one of the Towers. A needlessly fancy and fragile item, probably just like its owner, but he took a liking to it. It was meant for Mirage, something from the days of old, except Mirage didn't show up that night.

And now Jazz helplessly watched his former comrade examine it critically before opening it and peering in. 

"We don't know." Jazz answered honestly. "One day he just ... didn' show up." Just like Mirage, he thought bitterly. "We searched everywhere. We waited for days. Eventually, we had to move on. That was before we joined with da cons'. We're still hopin' he'll catch up."

"Megatron?" Prowl closed the tiny box and stashed it away. And just like that, it was gone.

"Dead." Jazz responded grimly. He would miss that box. "Cons turned on him after the executions."

"Starscream?" Jazz hesitated at that. Prowl looked up.

"We don't really know. He wasn't part of the group that joined us. They said he wasn't among the corpses they found, but he had other enemies."  Prowl hummed and picked up a few more items. His fingers brushed over the one wrapped in sheets and Jazz gasped.

"Careful!" He cried and didn't even realize he moved until Prowls rifle reminded him to stay put. The shot barely missed his leg.

The strategists glare was full of suspicion and he handled the item as one might handle a bomb. For all he knew, it might be one. When he unwrapped the part, he stared at it for a bit before picking it up.

"Please don't take that, anything but that. Please, Prowl." Jazz would resort to begging if he had to. There wasn't much else he could do, unless he wanted to risk injury. For this piece, he just might.

"We have a wounded. He needs it, Prowl. Hook can replace it easy, but the ones from starved are useless. Please."

Prowl examined the fuel pump, going through the same motions Jazz did earlier to check its usefulness. 

"I really don't wanna fight ya, Prowl. It's useless to you anyways. Please." Prowl kept it in one hand, rifle in the other, and stood up.

"Bot or con?" He asked. Jazz gaped, caught off guard.

"Wha-?"

"Autobot or Decepticon?" Prowl repeated. "This wounded."

"Ah. Sideswipe. It's Sideswipe." They planned on abandoning the twins once they got to the Rust. There was no way Sideswipe would make the journey, and he knew it. The only reason they kept him at all was because of Sunstreaker. Without having to use a manual pump to keep functioning, Sideswipe just might have a chance. Jazz kept looking ever since the red twin got damaged, but this was the first working replacement he found. 

And now it was in Prowls hands. 

"C'mon, Prowl. I really don' wanna lose two more."

Prowl hummed, fingers slightly tightening around the piece. Jazz shifted to battle stance. Idly he wondered where Prowl picked up the odd sound.

They couldn't manufacture an automatic pump, not in these conditions. The makeshift manual version was crude, ineffective and working it was about the only thing Sideswipe could do with half his insides exposed. Sunstreaker took over when his twin slept, and recharged little himself, pulling the weight for both of them in the group. The rest let them tag along since Sunstreaker was useful and they came in a pair. The golden twin stubbornly refused to let his brother just die and end the misery.

Taking one step forward, then another, Prowl crouched and gently lay the piece on the ground, still a safe distance from Jazz. Then he straightened up, backed away and mutely motioned for the saboteur with his weapon. 

Jazz didn't hesitate much, and with a breath of thanks he dove down. Cradling the fuel pump to his chest as if it was his own spark, an idea suddenly occured to him. 

"Hey Prowl,... If ya ever change yer mind..." He drew a mark into the dust on the ground, a rectangle with a circle in the middle. Prowl observed him without giving any reaction away. "We leave them behind, so Optimus can follow us." Jazz explained. "And others, too." He stood up. 

"Turn around." Prowl growled, and Jazz obeyed varily.

"Now, you keep walking." The strategist instructed. "Turn back, I shoot. Try something funny, I shoot." 

"... okay." So it didn't seem like Jazz managed to break through. Perhaps Prowl would change his mind given enough time to weigh his options. He could hope. For now, all Jazz could do was walk away. 

He only made a few steps when Prowl called out to him.

"Was Soundwave part of your little gang?" 

Jazz felt the jolt running up his Backstrut.

"Yeah ..." He answered carefully, not looking back. "Sounders is with us."

He heard Prowl murmur the nickname to himself. 

"You know where to find him?" Why would Prowl-

"General location, yeah." 

Prowl went quiet for a few moments. Jazz tapped his leg in agitation.

"I see. You might want to run along, then."

And there was that terrible feeling in his tanks. 

He couldn't lose another one.

Jazz took off at full speed, dreading what he might find.

Dreading he might be too late. Again.

He didn't look back once.


End file.
